


Comfortably Numb

by shruti_menon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Post-War, Relationship(s), Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:11:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3845323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shruti_menon/pseuds/shruti_menon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At school, Harry Potter had always been Draco’s nemesis. Or so he thought. As Draco realizes which side he should truly be on, he also starts to understand what (or who) it is that he truly wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One With Draco's Moment of Truth

Draco stood numbly at the school entrance as the horrifying sight unfolded in front of his eyes. Voldemort and his band of followers had just emerged from the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid trailing behind them. And in Hagrid’s arms was—Potter. Dead.

As screams rent the air, Draco felt as though he couldn’t breathe. His head started spinning and it took every last ounce of strength he had left to stop himself from collapsing onto the ground right there. Harry was dead? Was it even possible? There had to be some mistake. No matter what Voldemort had tried, Harry had always managed to defeat him. Every single time! How was it then that he was dead? How? Harry. _Harry..._

Draco couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore. His long pale fingers gripped the balustrade tightly, his knuckles white. He stared hard at Harry’s motionless body, as though willing him to open his eyes. He felt as though he was in his worst nightmare. Although...why was he reacting this way, he wondered? His relationship with Potter had always been one of animosity. Insults and threats—that was all that their conversations had ever consisted of. So then why was he feeling like his world had come to a grinding halt? He hated Potter.

Or did he? He had always picked fights with Potter because it made him feel good. Now he was wondering whether the reason why those petty insults felt good was because he had Potter’s attention for those few moments.

As if through a haze he saw Neville charge towards the Dark Lord in an act of defiance and then get Disarmed. He saw...the Sorting Hat? Draco didn’t know what was going on anymore.  All of a sudden there was a thundering sound and before anyone could react, the centaurs were upon them. Arrows rained down on the Death Eaters, taking them by surprise. A giant appeared as if from nowhere and joined the chaos. In a daze Draco turned back to Hagrid and he felt a wave of panic as he realized that Harry wasn’t there anymore. Where was Harry? What had they done to his body? Couldn’t they leave him alone even in death?

He felt a surge of hatred towards Voldemort and he was filled with a new fire he had never felt before. Having snapped back to reality, he made a decision. To fight. He had to do this for Harry. To help ensure that he hadn’t died in vain. For the first time in his life, Draco had no misgivings at all about what he needed to do.

But as he was about to charge into the crowd, he felt someone grab him from behind. He whipped around fiercely, prepared to hex whichever Death Eater was holding him back from his newfound mission. But instead he found himself staring into his mother’s worried eyes.

 “Mother!” choked Draco. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to make sure that you were okay, Draco!” Narcissa seemed to be on the verge of tears. “Come with us. Your father is waiting at the gates. We need to leave. Now.”

“No.”

“What?” Narcissa’s face registered confusion at her son’s defiant reply. “We have to leave, Draco! If the Dark Lord finds out that I lied to him about the Potter boy being dead, we’re doomed.”

“WHAT?” Draco nearly squealed. “Harry’s alive?”

He could not prevent the broad grin that was slowly spreading across his face. Harry was alive! Oh sweet Merlin! He could breathe again. Of course he should’ve known that he would have some trick up his sleeve, he was the Chosen One after all. Draco smiled fondly as an image of Harry’s laughing face swam before his eyes.

Narcissa on the other hand, was still staring at him, shocked. “Draco. Are you okay sweetheart? You look giddy.”

_Giddy with delight, Mother. Harry is alive!_

“I’m fine Mother. And no, I can’t leave now. I need to fight! This isn’t over.”

“But sweetheart, the others will take care of it! There are enough of us here to handle the Order.”

“Mother.” Draco looked into her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not fighting with them. I’m fighting against them. I need to help defend my school. Hogwarts needs me.” _Harry needs me. Well, I wish._ He gave his head a slight shake to clear the distracting thoughts of Harry from creeping up again. An exercise in futility, of course.

Narcissa was no fool. One look at her son’s face and she knew. She looked as though she was steeling herself for something unpleasant.

“I’ll fight with you, then.”

“You will? Really?” Draco asked disbelievingly. His mother truly was wonderful.

He threw his arms around her in a quick hug and then they were off, running through the crowd that was surging everywhere, throwing spells at random Death Eaters. Their attack was unexpected, and most of their spells hit their mark. As Draco took down Avery, he saw Dolohov falling to Professor Flitwick, Macnair being thrown across the room by Hagrid.

And out of the corner of his eye, he saw Molly Weasley locked in fierce battle with his aunt Bellatrix. As he watched, Mrs. Weasley’s spell hit her target and then Bellatrix was gone, toppling over as Voldemort screamed in fury. As the Dark Lord raised his wand to curse Mrs. Weasley, Draco heard a familiar voice, a voice he had been craving to hear, shout “ _Protego”_!

He turned with a gasp and there he was. The messy black hair that had always looked so irresistible. Those piercing green eyes that were filled with an unbelievable fury. That confident stance of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. Harry. His Harry. And then, as a cheer rang out across the grounds and people starting chanting Harry’s name, the real truth hit Draco.

He was in love with Harry Potter.


	2. The One Where Harry Is Completely Clueless

Harry awoke with a start and sat up in bed. It took him a while to realize that he’d been dreaming. Over by the window, Deion hooted comfortingly to him. Harry reached out and stroked the tawny owl. He missed Hedwig dearly. She would’ve liked Deion.

Harry continued to absent-mindedly stroke Deion as he went over the dream in his head. Voldemort’s sneering face as he attempted to kill Harry. That sneer turning to shock and then confusion as the Elder Wand refused to work against its rightful owner. Yet... that wasn’t quite the highlight of his dream. Harry squinted into the dark as he tried to remember.

 _Malfoy_.

Malfoy? Had he actually been dreaming about Malfoy? Of course not. That was impossible. Harry laughed to himself and tried to shake off the thought.

He lay back down, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stared at the ceiling of Regulus’ old room. Malfoy had been there. He hadn’t run away as everyone had expected. Hell, Harry had seen him single-handedly take on Avery! He hadn’t had time to give it much thought since Malfoy's trial, but now that he remembered that scene, he couldn’t seem to take his mind off it. The memory gave him a strange, warm feeling that he couldn’t quite place. How difficult it must have been for Malfoy to take a stand against everything his family believed in.

And later, after Voldemort’s death, Harry remembered seeing Malfoy lurking in the Great Hall, staring at him.

At Harry.

There had been something odd about the way he was looking at him. He’d never looked at him like that before. Harry however, had been too grief-stricken at the time to figure out Malfoy’s unreadable expressions. But now, two months later, all he wanted to do was figure it out.

Random thoughts and memories kept swirling in Harry’s head as he drifted in and out of sleep.

Malfoy watching him battle the Horntail in his fourth year, looking every bit as terrified as Ron and Hermione did.

Malfoy stealing glances at him in class.

Malfoy lying about not being able to recognize Harry at Malfoy Manor when he had been captured.

Malfoy kissing him... Such soft lips he had... Wonderful, handsome, brave Draco...

CRACK.

Harry nearly fell out of bed.

“Hermione! How many times have I told you not to do that!” Harry shouted indignantly, pulling his bedclothes up to his chin. “It’s as if you _want_ to see me naked!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Get out of bed, Harry or we’ll be late for the last trial. Lucius Malfoy’s trial, remember? He’s the only one left.”

Harry gaped at her, looking gormless. He had completely forgotten that the older Malfoy would be going on trial today. There was no way he could miss that. He shooed Hermione out of his room and started to get dressed as fast as he could.

As he pulled on his clothes, Harry’s thoughts were far away. Draco Malfoy hadn’t been seen in weeks. After Voldemort’s downfall, it was as though he had completely disappeared. A lot of people had noticed him fighting on the side of the Order, but he still wasn’t exactly popular. Maybe he wanted to escape all the scrutiny, Harry thought.

But maybe he would be there today. After all, it was his own father’s trial. He wouldn’t miss that. Would he? A wistful sigh escaped his lips.

Harry frowned at himself in the mirror as he felt his stomach lurch. Indigestion, no doubt. He desperately tried to flatten his hair to make himself look more presentable. No luck.

Screw it, thought Harry. He rushed downstairs where Hermione was pacing the living room and Ron was lying sprawled on the lumpy couch.

“There you are! What took you so long?” complained Ron as he pulled himself up. “And why do you look so flushed?”

“I’m not flushed,” retorted Harry defensively.

Harry thought he caught Hermione smirking as they walked to the door. Before he could say anything, however, Hermione took his hand and Ron’s, and the three of them Apparated to the Ministry of Magic.

It was going to be an interesting day.


	3. The One Where Draco Is In Trouble

As Draco followed his mother into the gleaming Atrium, he couldn’t help but feel slightly nauseated. His eyes fell on the Fountain of Magical Brethren and he grimaced. Not too long ago, he had been dragged to this very place for his own hearing. He might have switched sides at the last moment (the reasons being irrelevant at the moment) but he was a Death Eater, there was no escaping it. And he was treated as one.

His hearing had been a public affair, like all the other Death Eaters’ trials. He remembered sitting on the chair in the centre of the courtroom, with chains on the armrest that bound him as soon as he sat down. He had been administered with Veritaserum and questioned harshly by the members of the Wizengamot. He had pleaded guilty, his voice trembling. Draco had never been so afraid. His eyes had raked the crowd searching for his mother’s face, hoping for some comfort. Instead his gaze had landed on Potter. What on earth was he doing there? Seeing him there had been a shock, but not an unpleasant one at that.

_“If anyone would like to bear witness to Mr. Draco Malfoy’s actions, and would like to testify either for or against, you should speak now,” announced Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister for Magic. He looked around, not really expecting anyone to speak up for a known Death Eater._

_“I- I’d like to say something.”_

_Every single person in the courtroom turned to the source of the voice._

_Harry Potter._

“Draco!” Narcissa’s voice was urgent. “Are you listening to me?”

Draco snapped back to reality and focused on his mother’s face. “What’s wrong, Mother?”

“I just spoke to a couple of Aurors. The trial starts in ten minutes.”

“So soon? We didn’t even get to see Father!”

“I know, Draco. But it’s no use fighting it. We’ll just have to wait and see your father after the trial,” said Narcissa bitterly.

However, Draco was less accommodating. He was purposefully marching towards a seedy-looking Auror standing nearby, determined to give him a piece of his mind, when he spotted a mop of messy hair in the distance. _No, it can’t be_. But as it came nearer, Draco realized that it indeed was.

Potter was here.

No, that didn’t sound right.

 _Harry_ was here.

Draco felt his heart skip a beat as he was filled with a sudden yearning. He hadn’t seen that face in two months. Far too long, in his opinion. For two months, he had tried to put all his inappropriate thoughts about Harry aside. And had failed miserably. So instead, he had spent the time attempting to come to terms with his newfound change in sexuality, and trying to figure out the feelings that he evidently harboured for The Boy Who Lived.

His mind wandered back to the day of his hearing.

_“I have known Draco Malfoy since we were eleven,” began Harry, faltering slightly as hundreds of pairs of eyes glared at him for daring to speak up for someone who went by the name of Malfoy. “We have never been the best of friends, I’ll admit.” Draco couldn’t help smirking at the mild way in which Harry had described their hostile relationship._

_“But that doesn’t make him evil. The things that the other Death Eaters have done are vile, to say the least. Malfoy never went to such lengths. He did what he did to protect his family. Voldemort had threatened to hurt them if he didn’t do what he said. What would you expect a boy to do? Anyone in his place would have done the same. Everyone would always protect their own family, no matter what the cost. And then in the final battle at Hogwarts, he fought on our side against the Death Eaters. We all saw it with our own eyes. In my opinion, that shows tremendous courage. It is clear that he has realized the error of his ways. It would be unfair to judge him based on the actions of his father. That is all.” Harry took a deep breath and returned to his seat._

_The courtroom immediately came abuzz as people glared accusingly at Draco, as though this was some cunning plan he had hatched. But Draco didn’t care. He himself couldn’t believe it. Harry Potter, the boy he had spent the last seven years hating, was speaking up for him? Did he not hate Draco then? Although, would The Chosen One’s testimony be enough to convince the Wizengamot? His hands shook alarmingly as he waited for his sentence._

_Just then Kingsley Shacklebolt raised his hand and the room fell silent. “The Wizengamot has reached its verdict. Draco Malfoy has been found to be guilty.” The courtroom erupted with cheers as Draco began feeling faint. This can’t be happening, he thought. But it’s not like I don’t deserve it, a tiny voice in his head spoke up._

_“BUT,” continued Shacklebolt, “taking Mr. Potter’s testimony into account, we have decided that he will not go to Azkaban, but instead will be on probation for a period of two years.”_

_Draco nearly did faint with relief. He wasn’t going to Azkaban! He nearly managed to ignore the dark muttering all around. There was no one who seemed happy with the verdict. But Draco’s eyes sought out only one person. “Thank you,” he mouthed. Harry gave him a small smile and then he was gone._

Draco knew he would probably run into Harry soon, since he had to periodically show up at the Ministry to prove he wasn’t up to any Death Eater-like activities these days. He had gone to stay at his family’s country house for a while to avoid all contact with the wizarding world. In fact he had taken to frequenting Muggle pubs if he fancied a drink, so that there would be no chance of bumping into anyone who wished him a painful death.

But he hadn’t expected to see Harry so soon after his return, as Narcissa said, to civilization. Which is why seeng him there made Draco feel suddenly light-headed. _Damn you, Potter,_ cursed Draco inwardly.

All thoughts of arguing with the Auror forgotten, Draco watched as Harry neared him. His external appearance did nothing to reveal the turmoil within him. But his head was reeling. _What should I say? Merlin, what if he hates me?_

But finally his mind was made up. He smartly walked towards Harry and called out. “Ha— Potter!” he cursed himself for the near lapse. As Harry turned towards him, Draco gave him a warm smile. “Nice seeing you again. And you too,” he said, inclining his head politely towards Ron and Hermione.

Ron gaped at him in open shock. _Typical Weasley,_ thought Draco with disdain. Hermione was better at masking her surprise and murmured a polite “Nice to see you too.”

“Could I talk to you for a moment please, Potter?” asked Draco, turning his gaze back to Harry, trying to ignore the various gymnastics going on in the area of his stomach.

Harry’s eyes widened but he nodded swiftly and followed Draco to a corner.

Draco took a deep breath. “I never got to thank you properly, Potter. I owe you my life. Had it not been for you, I probably would’ve been rotting away in Azkaban right now,” he said quickly, his grey eyes drinking in the sight of Harry’s face.

“Don’t worry about it, Malfoy. I just felt that you deserved a fair trial. The jury needs to hear both sides of the story,” Harry finished earnestly.

_Fuck, he’s adorable. And boy, am I in trouble._


	4. The One Where They Actually Talk

Harry tried to remain calm, but that was hard to do when his heart was thumping frantically in his chest. Why, though? Why should he be feeling nervous? Malfoy was just thanking him for having spoken at his hearing, that was all. _No need to get worked up about it, you git_ , he chided himself. Trying to maintain a level voice, he had replied, saying that he only wanted a fair trial.

Malfoy smiled, a rare sight for Harry. He had always seen him as an undecipherable enigma, arrogance being the only trait that shone through. He had never expected him to personally come up to him and thank him, and to actually sound like he meant it. But then again, the War had changed everyone. Malfoy certainly seemed different – more open and...lighter, somehow. He had always been perfectly groomed, not a hair out of place and robes that seemed to only enhance how trim he was. He still was well-groomed, but this time, without his usual snarky expression and harsh voice dripping with sarcasm, Harry realized that he was actually a very attractive man. He suddenly became acutely aware of his own lack of grooming, and wished he had worn something better. Or that his hair was less messy.

He pulled himself together and tried to concentrate on what Malfoy was saying.

“...so then I stayed at our country house for a while. I never would’ve gotten that peace of mind had it not been for you. Merlin knows it was hard enough having survived the War.”

Harry blinked. There it was again. The humility that Malfoy was displaying. Harry had never seen him like this. Was this really the same Malfoy he had known in Hogwarts?

He suddenly realized that he was expected to reply. He cleared his throat. “Yes well, I suppose we’re veterans now.” He smiled weakly. He desperately wanted to avoid broaching the subject of Lucius Malfoy’s trial. Surely he was the last person Malfoy wanted to discuss that with.

“Maybe we should meet again sometime, Potter, and catch up. It’s been a while since we talked,” smirked Malfoy.

“If by talked, you mean had an actual conversation without insulting each other and our families, then yes, it’s been seven years since we last talked,” laughed Harry. Malfoy laughed along with him. It surprised Harry that this felt so easy. He was actually having a pleasant conversation with _Malfoy_ , when a few months ago he wouldn’t have hesitated to hex him even without provocation. _Maybe he’s human after all,_ he thought. “But yeah, sure we can meet up sometime,” he continued. “Send me an owl with the time and place.”

Malfoy nodded, but some intense emotion seemed to cloud his eyes as he took his leave. It lasted only for a moment before his smooth unreadable mask came on again, so much so that Harry thought he might have imagined it. As Malfoy walked away, Harry found himself staring at his retreating back with something akin to regret. What was happening to him? Did he just enjoy the chat with Malfoy?

Harry was aware that he had never been in love with a girl, but he hadn’t really stopped to think about the implications before. The brief romance with Cho had been based more on a teenage infatuation than on actual feelings. He had loved Ginny, true, but he had realized all too soon that he saw her more as a sister or even a best friend than a _girlfriend._ They had sat down and had a long talk after the War. Harry had been nearly broken due to the tremendous grief that had seemed to settle on him once he didn’t have to focus on Voldemort anymore. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Dobby— the list was endless. Harry didn’t have the energy to keep up a romantic relationship at the time. That too, when he had started to seriously doubt the degree of romantic feeling he had towards Ginny.

She understood, of course. In fact, he suspected she understood more than he even knew himself. He knew he had probably hurt her, but this would be infinitely better than being in a half-hearted relationship full of lies.

But this— this was something else. He had never felt such intense emotions in such a short span of time. Had Malfoy really been the one to have triggered this in him?

Harry was jerked out of his reverie by Hermione’s hand on his shoulder. “The trial, Harry. Come on,” she said softly. He followed her and Ron as they walked to Courtroom Ten. There was a huge crowd milling about at the entrance; Lucius Malfoy’s trial was evidently one of great public interest.

As they pushed their way through the throng to enter the courtroom, Harry had a strong sense of déjà vu. This was where he had his own hearing, just a few years ago. He had been let off that day only because of Dumbledore. He smiled to himself as he pictured those twinkling eyes behind the trademark half-moon spectacles. He missed Dumbledore.

Harry led his friends to a row of seats against the farthest wall, right at the back of the room. Today, he would be no more than just a silent observer.

***

Draco expelled a deep breath as he walked away from Harry. He couldn’t believe that his offer to meet up again had been accepted. He had expected a sarcastic retort, or even a disdainful not-on-your-life, but most definitely not a yes! Harry had looked unbelievably sexy, even in his faded tee and washed out jeans. And his hair! Draco had always been extremely particular about his own hair, and every morning he took ages to ensure that it was just right. But in Harry's case, the messier it was, the more irresistible he looked. To Draco, at least. He had had to fight to control the emotions that he was sure had shown on his face. Wearing your heart on your sleeve wasn’t something that was appreciated in the Malfoy household.

Harry, obviously, was very different. It was one of the many things that had attracted Draco from the start. Harry was honest and open with everyone, something that Draco could never be. He had rarely shown his true self to anyone, since he had never felt the need to. His icy demeanour was like his shield, to prevent him from ever getting too close to anyone. But not this time. For some reason, he _wanted_ Harry to get to know the real Draco, the one he had been hiding all these years. _When did I get so irrational_ , he wondered, irked.

Draco joined Narcissa in the crowd surging towards Courtroom Ten. His thoughts now shifted to his father. Draco loved him and that was never going to change, but he didn’t think he would ever forgive him for assuming that Draco would also want to join the ranks of the Death Eaters. Of course, his father hadn't had much choice in the matter either. But Draco had never been given the opportunity to make his own choices. Until he took matters into his own hands, of course.

His hand unconsciously went to his left arm where the Dark Mark was still seared into his skin. After Voldemort’s return, his life had veered dangerously out of control. Until Harry gave him a second chance. And Draco was determined not to waste it.


	5. The One With Malfoy's Intense Gaze

Draco stared at himself in the mirror, smoothing his hair back for what must have been the hundredth time. Over the past couple of months, he had lost the usual obsession that he had always had with personal grooming. His dark circles and thin frame bore testimony to that.

The past week at home had done him good, though. Now he looked more...alive.

And he wanted to look his best when he went to meet Harry. Meeting at a public place was out of the question, since nothing would fuel rumours faster than The Boy Who Lived having a friendly chat with an ex-Death Eater whose father was in Azkaban for life. He had decided against inviting Harry over to Malfoy Manor—the place held too many unpleasant memories. So he had owled Harry asking him whether it would be okay to meet at his place. Harry had agreed.

Draco checked the time yet again as he straightened his robes— there were still ten minutes to go. He was itching to leave and lay his eyes on Harry again, but reaching early would only make him look desperate. And that wouldn’t do.

Instead he sank into his couch and stared out at the darkening sky. He had not spoken to his mother about him being gay. But as always, he suspected she knew more than she should. Draco had always been an open book to Narcissa. She had known about his obsession with Harry since his first year itself, when Draco himself had no clue as to what that particular obsession meant. He had taken Harry’s outright rejection of his friendship pretty hard. As a Malfoy, Draco had been accustomed to getting what he wanted. And when he didn’t, he had resorted to constantly throwing petty insults at Harry throughout their school life, which was essentially one drawn-out temper tantrum. What had happened with Voldemort was a completely different issue. That...man? Snakeman? Creature. Whatever...had invaded his home. He had tortured Draco innumerable times, and had threatened him even more often. His family had been in constant danger of death, or worse. No one would ever understand all of that. Except, as it seemed, Harry.

All of Draco’s friends had vanished after the War. He had heard that Blaise, once his best friend, had moved back to Italy. No one had any news of Goyle after his father had also received a life sentence in Azkaban. Theodore Nott had vanished too. Pansy would write to Draco once in a while but could provide little comfort. He craved companionship, and now he seemed, or rather, hoped, to have found a kindred soul in Harry. _Stranger things have happened,_ mused Draco. Somehow, he felt that Harry was the only one who hadn’t written him off yet. Talking to him at the Ministry the other day was the first normal conversation that Draco had had in months.

 _But he has no reason to like me,_ he thought. _For all I know, he’s just being polite._ Draco couldn’t understand how Harry could be so forgiving. How he could still make an effort to be nice to him after everything he had done. And all his old insecurities came rushing back as did the almost permanent frown on his face. Just then, the clock struck eight. Feeling more nervous than ever, Draco looked in the mirror one last time and picked up a handful of Floo Powder.

***

As Harry sat waiting for Malfoy’s arrival, a million thoughts were racing through his mind. He had realized that Malfoy had changed—the way only a soul-shattering, mind-numbing experience can change someone. But that didn’t explain his sudden willingness to befriend Harry. True, he had defended Malfoy publicly and pretty much saved his life, but he had done that because it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want Malfoy to think he owed him something. All he had done was make sure that justice was served.

Harry sighed. He was lonely—that was the cold, hard, inescapable truth. He had Ron and Hermione, of course, but they had only just got together. Harry didn’t want to intrude more often than was necessary, even though he knew they wouldn’t mind. The Burrow was always open to him—they were his family now, but Harry still felt responsible in some way for Fred’s death. And the fact that Ginny would be there didn’t help the situation.

He had, essentially, shut himself away from everyone he loved. Hermione had told him a million times that it was not Harry’s fault that all those people had died, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe her.

With Malfoy, however, it was different. Malfoy was one person who had been through hell and back, and maybe he would understand how Harry truly felt, how broken and fucked up he had become. That didn’t explain why he felt attracted to him however. On more than one occasion Harry had woken up to realize that he had been dreaming about Malfoy. Why? He didn’t get it. He had considered asking Hermione for a reasonable explanation, but had thought better of it at the last moment. He didn’t think he could stand to see the inevitable look of horror on her face.

As the clock struck eight, there was a whooshing sound and Malfoy emerged from the fireplace. Harry’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on the handsome blond. Malfoy’s poise had never ceased to amaze him, he was sure the man could look sexy even while wearing a garbage bag.

“Hey,” said Malfoy softly, directing an intense gaze towards Harry.

Harry jumped and tried to regain his composure. “Hey Malfoy,” he said smoothly. “Never thought the day would come when I’d see you here.”

Malfoy smirked, the same smirk that had driven Harry mad with annoyance throughout school, but in that moment he thought it was the cutest thing on earth. “Never thought you’d welcome me into your home, Potter.”

“Times change,” shrugged Harry. “Why don’t you take a seat Malfoy.”

“Kreacher!”

The house elf appeared with a loud crack.

“What is Master Harry wanting?” The elf cast a surreptitious glance towards Malfoy and broke into such a low bow that his nose touched the floor. “Master Malfoy is here, the noble descendant of Kreacher’s Mistress, Kreacher is proud to meet him...” he mumbled to the floor.

“Kreacher!” said Harry loudly. “Get dinner ready, please.”

“Kreacher is doing as Master Harry wants.” With another low bow towards Malfoy, he disappeared.

Harry rolled his eyes and sat next to Malfoy on the couch. He had never seen him from such close quarters before. Harry’s eyes roved over his face, taking in the tired eyes and the little frown that was always there. He lingered a little longer than necessary on his lips. Despite the exhaustion clearly written on his face, Malfoy was still breathtaking. It was clear how much he had been through. Harry watched as the last rays of the sun caught the white-blond hair, making him look like a painting or a fantasy.

“Potter.” Harry jumped. _Fuck, I’m really making a fool of myself_. Malfoy was looking at him, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine,” smiled Harry. “Just thinking. I never really hated you, you know.”

“I know,” breathed Malfoy. “I never hated you either. I guess it just seemed the natural thing to do, to be at your throat all the time. Especially after you said you didn’t want to be my friend.”

“That seems like centuries ago now,” frowned Harry. “Friends?” he offered Malfoy his hand.

The blond smiled easily and took Harry’s hand. “Friends.”


	6. The One With The Intimate Dinner

Darkness fell as Harry and Draco sat chatting comfortably, as if they had been doing this all their lives. There wasn’t a trace of animosity left between the two, and it was surprising how well they were getting along. In fact Draco actually felt annoyed when Kreacher suddenly materialised to inform them that dinner was ready. He and Harry were in the middle of a particularly intense discussion about whether it made sense for them to return to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year.

Since none of them had been in any position to take the NEWTs the previous year, they had been called back to attend classes this year if they so wished. Harry was all for going back.

“I need the classes. You and Hermione and your ilk may be able to manage the NEWTs with self study, but we of the average-sized brains need help.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Do stop being so melodramatic, Potter. How typical of you to act like a drama queen.” But there was no malice in his voice. “I’m sure you can do just fine on your own,” he continued. “Can’t say the same for the Weasel, though.” He smirked.

“You really should stop calling him that,” berated Harry. “Now that we’re....” he hesitated. “Friends.”

Something inscrutable flashed in Draco’s eyes but it was gone before Harry could notice it.

“Are you sure you really want to be my friend then, Potter?” asked Draco, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“I invited you to my house, didn’t I? And it’s Harry.”

“Alright then, _Harry_.” Draco fought to maintain his outward calm while inside, he felt as though a dragon was roaring its approval in his chest. The whirlwind of emotion made Draco’s head feel rather woozy.

“Dinner?” asked Harry.

Draco shrugged and followed Harry into the dining room. It was cheerily lit with candles and two places had been set at one end of the long table. An assortment of various dishes was laid out, starting from roast chicken to a dish that Draco vaguely remembered having had when he had visited Paris all those years ago with his parents. “Bouillabaisse?”

“Bless you,” said Harry and snickered.

“What?” asked Draco, confused.

“Nevermind. Tuck in, Malfoy,” pronounced Harry, waving his arm expansively and nearly knocking over a jug of pumpkin juice.

“It’s Draco.”

Harry smiled. And Draco tucked in.

***

By the time Kreacher whisked away their plates and brought in Harry’s favourite treacle tart, the conversation had shifted back to Hogwarts.

“I’ve heard that the castle has a way of magically repairing itself,” proclaimed Harry, repeating what Hermione had told him a few days back.

“Yes but there was so much other damage that will need to be fixed,” mumbled Draco, suddenly concentrating on his treacle tart far more than was strictly necessary.

“I know, but Hagrid told me that the teachers are doing whatever is necessary. They’ve fixed the ceiling of the Great Hall and bewitched it to look like the sky again and most of the wards are back in place too,” Harry prattled on, before noticing how quiet Draco had become. _How very tactless of you, Harry,_ scolded a tiny voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione. _Oh, be quiet,_ hissed Harry at the voice.

“Huh?” Draco looked up, his mouth full of treacle tart.

“Nothing,” said Harry quickly, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks. “So Draco, are you going back to Hogwarts? You never did say.”

Draco looked down at his dessert, his face impassive. “Maybe. I haven’t really decided yet. Can’t say I’ll be missed if I don’t turn up.”

“Don’t say that, Draco. I want you to come back.”

Draco stared at him, the intensity of Harry’s startlingly green eyes throwing him slightly off balance. “You do?” he asked softly, flashing one his rare genuine smiles.

Harry’s pulse quickened at the sight and he blushed again. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ “Of course I do, Draco,” he said as calmly as he could. “Considering we’re friends now,” he hastened to add. “I want to know what Hogwarts is like without Draco Malfoy trying to get under my skin all the time.”

“Who said I won’t keep doing just that?” asked Draco, his grey eyes playful.

Harry pretended to look offended as Draco leaned closer. _Merlin, he even smells amazing!_ Harry felt rather light headed at the sudden close proximity.

“Scared, Potter?”

“You wish.”

They both laughed.


	7. The One With The Fancy Gift

When Draco got back to the Manor that night, he felt rather light-headed. The evening with Harry had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. They had both carefully skirted around the more sensitive issues and stuck to neutral subjects. Which he thought was rather sensible since probably neither of them were ready to talk about the horrors of their past.

Draco collapsed onto his bed, fully clothed, and stared at the stars twinkling down at him from the enchanted ceiling. He had ended up having one Firewhiskey too many, he thought. It had been a long time since he had just enjoyed a drink with someone and been completely relaxed.

And to think that the someone had been _Harry..._ It had taken all of Draco’s self-control to not reach out and just _touch_ Harry. Just once. He almost had, his fingers brushing Harry’s ear as the man had sat with his eyes closed. He had probably felt his touch and those green eyes... _damn those green eyes_...had immediately snapped open, giving him an odd, searching look. But luckily, Draco had managed to gather himself together and had then left, before his emotions spun out of control.

_Draco was running, he was surrounded by fog but behind him were a pair of red eyes, approaching fast. The hysterical snakelike laugh was echoing in his head as he ran, stumbling. He had to get away! The red eyes got closer and he could see Voldemort’s face, his horrible features contorted into an evil sneer as he glided over the ground. And then Voldemort morphed into Nagini, fangs raised high, ready to strike. The fog had dissipated and he felt a terrible heat surrounding him. Fiendfyre! He was surely going to die now..._

_Just then he saw something move above him and a seemingly disembodied hand reached out to him. Instinctively, Draco reached out and caught it, and then he was soaring high, away from the Fiendfyre, away from the horrid snake. He couldn’t make out who his saviour was, though..._

Draco’s eyes snapped open and he realized he was tangled up in the sheets and drenched with sweat. He calmed down as he realized he was safe at home, and tried to even out his ragged breathing. The same nightmare. It had been haunting him ever since the War. And every time, someone would save him in the nick of time. Narcissa had tried to send him to a Mind Healer, but Draco had refused point blank. His horrors were his alone and he had no interest in sharing them with anyone, let alone some stranger.

 _Where would I have been if you hadn’t saved me, Harry..._ was his last coherent thought before he fell back into an uneasy sleep.

***

Harry was woken up at midnight by a persistent tapping on his window. He blearily looked at the clock before going over to the window and unlatching it. 12 am. The eagle owl looked familiar... “Zeus?” breathed Harry. What was Malfoy’s owl doing here? Draco remembered his birthday? Harry shook his head in disbelief and untied the parcel a little too eagerly. There was a note attached to it –

_Harry,_

_Don’t look so surprised, git. This is what friends do, right? I happened to come across this the other day and thought you might like it. Consider it an apology for the last seven years._

_Happy birthday!_

_Cheers,_

_Draco._

Harry grinned, reaching over for the parcel. He unwrapped it and gasped in shock. It was a first edition _Encylopædia de Quidditch_ , signed by none other than Josef Wronski himself. Harry exhaled sharply and sank onto his bed as Zeus hopped onto Hedwig's perch, evidently completely at home. The thought of Draco giving him such a thoughtful, not to mention obviously expensive, present gave him an odd tingly feeling all over.

Before he could analyze it, however, Deion flew in with two more parcels. Ron had sent him boxing gloves with a note saying that boxing had helped him cope and had served as an outlet for all his anger, and he hoped it would help Harry too. Hermione had sent him a box of chocolates and a bottle of Australia’s finest wine. He smiled as he opened her letter, which was nearly as long as the letters she used to write to Viktor Krum in their fourth year.

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy birthday!_

_I hope you’ve been doing well and taking care of yourself. Australia is absolutely lovely. I found my parents easily enough and lifted the charm on them. They were angry at first, but when I told them the full story they realized why I had to do it. They keep saying they wish they could have helped in the War. So maybe it’s for the best that I left out the gory details._

_They’ve taken to Ron really well and I rather think they want us to get married soon! I’m completely against it, of course, after all we still have a year of Hogwarts left. And then there’s so much more we need to do to build our careers. There’s plenty of time left for marriage, don’t you think? I even want to take S.P.E.W. forward._

_Sometimes Australia seems like a whole other universe, you know. There was never any real threat of Voldemort here, though everyone’s heard of him, of course. It’s such a peaceful place. I don’t think Mum and Dad will return. They’re really well settled and they love it here. And I’m not going to try and force them to give all this up._

_There’s a wizard here who can speak to kangaroos, can you believe it? I thought talking to snakes was odd enough, but kangaroos? I’m glad you aren’t a Parselmouth anymore though, Harry. There’s nothing connecting you to Voldemort any longer. You could try talking to the kangaroos though, maybe you can, who knows?_

_Let me know when you’ll be going to Diagon Alley for your books. We’ll meet you then. Take care, Harry._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry was beaming by the time he reached the end of the letter. Good old Hermione. He missed her and Ron so much. It had hardly been a few weeks since they had left after Lucius Malfoy’s trial, but it just wasn’t the same without them.

Harry sighed and picked up Draco’s gift again. He must write to him and thank him. Who knew the pointy faced git could be so thoughtful? If Draco would be returning to school (and Harry found himself sincerely hoping that he would), he wondered how he would behave once they were back in familiar surroundings. Would he still be the same old Malfoy, throwing insults at Harry every chance he got? Or would he be this new and improved Draco who Harry was really starting to like? He couldn’t wait to find out.


	8. The One Where They're All Back Where They Belong

As Harry walked into King’s Cross on the first of September, he felt his gut churning. It was almost scary, how nervous he felt about going back to Hogwarts. His head was buzzing with a million thoughts as he walked through the barrier onto Platform 9¾ and headlong into a bunch of Hufflepuff girls. “Sorry,” he mumbled, flushed, as the girls giggled in an alarming way. He could feel their eyes on his back as he retreated further down the platform keeping an eye out for a head of red hair. Or even white blond, maybe?

“Harry!” he heard a squeal. Hermione came barrelling towards him and engulfed him in a huge hug. “Hey mate,” grinned Ron, sauntering along behind her. “Hey Ron!” Harry already felt his anxiousness abating. They went up to where the other Weasleys were standing. Ginny gave Harry a small smile. Molly, whose eyes were always slightly red these days, sniffed and pulled him into a bear hug. “You’ve become even skinnier since I last saw you, dear,” she said disapprovingly. “You should’ve come to the Burrow more often.” As Harry was wondering how to respond, Arthur came to his rescue, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You kids are going to have a good year. No undead maniacs after your lives this time,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. Harry shot him a weak smile.

They said their goodbyes and got on the train, Harry subconsciously scanning the crowd for Draco. There seemed to be no sign of him. Harry had communicated with him quite a lot over the last few weeks via owl, and he knew that Draco was going back to school too. Where was he, then? They reached an empty compartment and got in, Ginny, Neville and Luna joining them soon after. “Hi guys,” said Luna dreamily, her Spectrespecs lopsided. “There aren’t as many Wrackspurts around here now.”

“That’s a good thing, right Luna?”  asked Ron, making a Herculean effort to contain his laughter. “Well yes,” she replied seriously. “I suppose it’s because people have more to be happy about, now that the War’s over.” “So! Wanna play Exploding Snap?” asked Neville, trying to change the topic.

It was rather an uneventful journey. Harry half expected Draco to pass by their compartment and insult Ron about his family, be nasty to Hermione because of her Muggle heritage, and make some sarcastic comment about Harry being a saint. But he didn’t. “I wonder if Draco’s on the train,” said Harry, not realizing he had voiced his thoughts aloud. Ron looked askance at him. “Since when have you been calling the git Draco?” Hermione cast a quick glance at Harry, noticing the faint flush on his cheeks and quickly said, “I’m sure he must be here somewhere. He probably doesn’t want to attract unnecessary attention to himself.”

“Right,” mumbled Harry, still blushing. “I’m going to change.”

They were taken up to the castle in their usual carriages, but there was one difference. Everyone could see the Thestrals now.

As they entered the Great Hall, Harry felt the familiar feeling of homecoming. How could he have been so anxious about coming back, he wondered. True, a lot had happened in these very halls. But Hogwarts was his home. It always would be. “What are you smiling about?” asked Ron suspiciously. “Nothing, mate. It’s just good to be back.”

As they sat down with the other Gryffindors, Harry’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the Slytherin Table. Draco was again conspicuous by his absence. But before he could dwell on it further, the doors to the Great Hall opened and Hagrid led a bunch of First Years in. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t too many new students. He waved at Hagrid, who responded cheerily.

As the Sorting Hat burst into song, Harry’s mind wandered. To his own surprise, his primary concern seemed to be Draco. And the fact that he was too hungry to concentrate on what the Sorting Hat was saying. It seemed to be repeating what it had said so long ago about all the Houses being united.

As the last student, _‘Wade, Thomas!’_ , was sorted into Ravenclaw, Harry realized that only one student had been sorted into Slytherin. The other three houses seemed to be regarding the Slytherins rather warily, even though several of them were missing this year. Harry noticed the absence of Zabini and Goyle. Pansy, Millicent Bulstrode and Theodore Nott were the only ones from their year. His stomach churned as he wondered what sort of reception Draco might get. Where was he anyway?

Harry wolfed down his food. He wanted to get to his room as fast as possible and check the Marauder’s map for any clue about Draco’s whereabouts. He refrained from voicing his concerns to Hermione and Ron – they’d simply say he was getting obsessed all over again.

As the desserts vanished, Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, stood up. “I have an announcement to make. As you all know, this year we have an extra batch of students since last year’s seventh year batch was unable to give their N.E.W.T. exams. The eighth years will not be staying in their usual dormitories.” There was a collective gasp. “Since you are all of age, you will be given your own rooms. The entrance to your quarters is next to the statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Since there are so few of you, there will not be any house divisions.”

As soon as she sat down, the Hall was filled with a low buzzing as the students discussed this new development. The eighth years stood up quickly, eager to see their new rooms. Harry was among the first to leave. He ran to the fifth floor and attempted to enter their new quarters, only to realize that he didn’t know how to enter. Feeling foolish, he stood waiting for someone to arrive and help out. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ron and Hermione approaching. “Password is _centaur_. Honestly, Harry!” Hermione looked at him reproachfully as the wall slid back to reveal a wide corridor. “Lay off, Hermione,” said Ron, slinging an arm around each of their shoulders. ‘We have our own rooms now!” He winked at her roguishly. “Oh shut up Ronald,” muttered Hermione, turning pink.

The corridor led to a massive circular space filled with squashy armchairs and sofas, not unlike the Gryffindor common room, but much larger. The room was a riot of red, green, yellow and blue, reminding them that they would be sharing with other houses. Tall, arched windows along one side overlooked the Quidditch pitch. Two other wide corridors led away from the common room, both with several ornately carved doors on either side. Bidding goodnight to Hermione, Harry and Ron entered the boys’ corridor, which ended in another large window, this one overlooking the Great Lake.

“Wow,” breathed Ron. “This is brilliant!”

Harry agreed, staring in amazement. He walked down to the end of the corridor, where the door on his right stood open. “This one’s empty, I’m taking it,” he called out to Ron. “Why don’t you take this one,” he suggested, waving to the room next to his. “It’s empty.” Ron nodded and Harry entered his new room. It was nearly as large as their old dormitory, decorated in warm shades of beige with a huge four poster bed in the center. A large wooden cupboard took up almost one entire wall while empty bookshelves lined another. There was a huge mirror, which yelled “Brush your hair, scruffy!” as soon as Harry looked at it. It was only then that he realized that their luggage would probably be sent up only after they had all chosen their rooms. Frowning, he went back out into the corridor.

“Stalking me much, Potter?”

Draco Malfoy was leaning against the door frame of the room right opposite his, hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face. “Draco!” Harry exclaimed, thoroughly relieved. “Where the hell were you?”

“Missed me, did you?” smirked Draco, but his tone was warm. “I came by Floo, Harry. McGonagall’s office. Mother didn’t think it was prudent to send me by train. I, of course, had no say in the matter.”

“Well, you could have told me. I thought someone had attacked you or something!”

“I’m sorry, Harry!” Draco suddenly looked uncertain. “I didn’t think you’d be bothered.”

“Did you just apologize to me?” It was Harry’s turn to smirk now.

“Oh shut it, you prat.”

The other students had started entering now, squabbling over rooms and exclaiming in wonder at the enormity of the place. Many of them frowned at the sight of Harry and Draco standing together, but no one said anything. Harry glanced over at Draco but his face had fallen into the old Malfoy mask of impassivity.

By the time Harry went back into his room, his luggage was there, waiting for him. He showered and fell into his new bed, Marauder’s Map in hand. He watched Draco’s dot for a while, even though it wasn’t moving. “Mischief managed,” he muttered into the dark, tapping it with his wand. He fell asleep almost immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing something like this, so please be kind! Suggestions are always welcome. Thanks for reading! :)


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